Matt Jahantark's Key Ideas from A Philosophy of Walking
by Frédéric Gros

Nietzsche's personal life was destined to be shaped by these very ruptures, separations, and withdrawals: from the world, society, companions, colleagues, spouses, friends, and relatives. But each break that deepened his solitude meant an ever-increasing expansion of his freedoms. He no longer needed to explain or compromise. His vision was clear and unbiased.

Nietzsche would walk all day and immediately write down whatever his body, in its confrontation with sky, sea, and glaciers, inspired in his thoughts. "Thus spoke Zarathustra with his heart: I am a wanderer and mountain climber. I do not love the plains. And it is as if I cannot sit still for a long time. And everything that still comes to me as fate and trial will be in that new wandering and mountain climbing: but man, in the end, tests only himself."

Rousseau claimed that he couldn't think properly, write, create, or be inspired by anything unless he was walking.

The mere sight of a desk and chair was enough to make him sick and take away all his courage. It was during long walks that ideas came to him, on the road that sentences flowed from his lips and subtly marked his movements. Walking was the path that ignited his imagination.

Were the Greek philosophers good walkers? Legend has it that they were, as they are often depicted standing or strolling among their students, pacing back and forth under the roof of a colonnade or among the trees, pausing occasionally, turning back, continuing in another direction, and always with their students following closely behind.

That is why Raphael, in his famous painting "The School of Athens," portrayed the archetypal philosopher of antiquity in this way: standing, with a firm step, and a commanding finger.

Walking without anything, not even necessities, is surrendering to the primal. When you do this, nothing else matters: no map, no self-assurance, nothing but a wholehearted belief in the world's generosity. Stones, sky, earth, trees - all serve as gifts, providing endless support.

By surrendering to these primal elements, we gain a trust we've never known before - a trust that soothes the heart because it makes us entirely dependent on another and even frees us from the duty of self-preservation. Primals are the things to which we surrender, the things that are given to us entirely. But to experience the essence of the primal, we must risk crossing the boundary of necessity.

When a hike stretches on for a long time, there comes a moment when you lose track of how many hours have passed, or how many more it will take to reach your destination. You feel the weight of basic necessities on your shoulders and tell yourself, "This is enough - there's no need to do anything more to keep body and soul together." You feel as though you could continue like this for days, for centuries.

You no longer remember where you were going or why. These questions seem as meaningless as your past or the time of day. And so, you feel free because every time you recall a sign of your former hellish responsibilities – your name, age, profession, and history – it all seems utterly ridiculous, insignificant, and illusory.